LIGHT UP:

STAGE LIT WITH ONE SPOT LIGHT CENTERED

SPEAKER walks to the center of the stage with a stool in his hands. He sets it down.

SPEAKER

Good Evening, tonight we deal with the left overs. The people created in the writer’s head that have not been forgotten but have been shelved  almost indefinitely. We will encounter six of these people and six moments that make up the entirety of their fictional life. The writer hopes you enjoy this but not enough for him to revisit these charters which he now fucking hates.

SPEAKER walks of the stage

STAGE

TASIA walks onto the stage, sits on the stool, lights a cigarette, and takes a deep long drag.

TASIA

I must look like a stupid poor ass nigger who can’t keep her legs closed to these white folks. I thank God to have this job though. I was fired from my last job serving tables because too many people complained that I acted like I didn’t want to be there. Damn right I didn’t want to be there. Hell, I don’t want to be here. Being black and serving tables is some kind of hell on earth, and Jesus I don’t know what I did to deserve it. When I walk into the back for a cigarette to calm my damn nerves and all the voices disappear. Like I don’t know where they went. They went right back in your damn little racist white mouths, bitching about how black people don’t tip. Black people don’t tip? You think white people tip the black girl that forgets their drink order because she is too worried about her three kids at home? I was going to be better than this. I was in college. Getting my basics done. Then I was going to be a nurse. I had everything together and the only thing I was missing was a man in my life. I thought I met him. I was stupid and got pregnant. He wasn’t a man and my plans were ruined. I had to drop out and worry what I was going to tell my daughter about her daddy when she got old enough to ask. So there I was serving tables and I met him. He was fine and knew how to talk to a woman. He loved my kid and got me on my back. He’d look after my daughter while I was at work or when I was at college. He stayed next to me for our first kid but when he knocked me up again, he said it wasn’t his. Then he said he’d pay to get rid of it. Like I was going to murder my baby.

STAGE

ROBERT WALKS ONTO THE STAGE WITH A GUITAR AND SITS DOWN HOLDING AND HIDING MOST OF HIS BODY BEHIND IT

ROBERT SIMS

My name is Robert Sims, I’m nineteen years old, I play the guitar, piano, bass, drums, and I’m playing around with the sax. Self taught. Can play by ear. I write lyrics too. Only a few girls and my mom have heard my stuff, as whole. The world makes me sad. It’s the interaction. The game. The moving words like chess pieces across the board of conversation. Trying to get what you want. We all watch movies and we all know how to manipulate now. I know when I’m being manipulated- I let it happen. I can’t stand it anymore and I can’t get it out with a song. I can’t add to the culture anything of value. Giving people something new, something to live by is giving people with money something to copy. I never grew up with a yard. I never grew up with a brand pulled up over my ass to go ruin in the grass. I’m going to kill myself in a few hours and no one knows. I’ve told a lot of people that I love them and given some stuff away. My mom told me she was glad to see that I was so “up” today. Wouldn’t you be happy too? I get to get away from it all. I get to be at peace. I get to not wake up and lie to the world or be lied to or be used for other people enjoyment, emotion or idol. There are no idols Everything is stolen. I’m going to play my guitar one more time then light it on fire. Thank you Hendrix, thank you Thich Quang Duc.